


Teamwork

by Evercrest



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Loss of Control, Meresino, Rain, Seduction, self restraint, slight reluctance, wet fabric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evercrest/pseuds/Evercrest
Summary: It takes two to tango with desire. Meredith and Orsino know this far too well.When forced to dance, the First Enchanter likes to lead.





	Teamwork

The rain falls soft and steady, like a curtain shielding the world from view. In broad daylight a person wouldn’t have been able to see further than the distance between the tip of their nose and an outstretched hand. The Knight Commander, already completely drenched, doesn’t care. The weather is the least of her problems tonight.

They’ve woken her in the middle of the night, and the moment they had told her full armor wasn’t required she knew why they had come. She hadn’t bothered to dress appropriately for the weather, then.

Meredith stares down from the top of the tower to the ground. Of course she can’t see anything, but looking keeps her busy. It prevents her chest from constricting and cutting her off from air, so she keeps staring and moving in circles. Her eyes rake over an endless abyss of darkness that seems to beckon and laugh at her like a desire demon with its legs spread wide in invitation. She almost expects a pair of shadowy hands to emerge and pull her over the battlements.

But then again, it doesn’t really matter. She is prepared.

Her templars have picked up a lifeless body from the ground a mere hour before, the limbs of the mage sticking out at odd angles; eyes glazed with delirious wonder, even in death. Just a slip of a girl barely breaching womanhood. The second this month. And the month was less than a week old. Another life wasted and lost, another mage under her protection gone.

She shivers, feeling every uncomfortable inch of clammy fabric and blond tresses sticking to her wet skin. She wants to sigh, but the pressure on her chest is too strong, so she just keeps breathing.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a soft deep voice disturbs her train of thought. It washes over her like a warm stream of water that chases the cold away and wraps her in a distant song. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Meredith chuckles, a bitter and brittle sound lost to the rush of rain and the waves crashing against the Gallows‘ solid stone. Something in her stomach twists and grazes the insides of her belly before forming into the familiar, controlling fist.

“Does it matter, First Enchanter?”

She doesn’t look at him. She can’t. Looking at the elf is uncomfortable at best, guilt triggering at worst. She doesn’t need more guilt. Just being in the First Enchanter’s presence was becoming too hard recently; his greying hair and the lines on his skin always reminded her of her failures. She is grateful for the small mercy of his lines being still fading and soft. Soon, they will be carved into his skin; a firm part of him, a stark reminder of his worry caused by her shortcomings.

In her mind he still looks young and dashing; reality always comes as a shock, no matter how often she sees him or how much time she spends in his proximity.

In truth, she has avoided spending time with him for months for this very reason. He is frustrated with her, she knows, as her game of avoidance makes his work deliberately harder, but it just matches her narrative too well to not foster the idea she simply doesn’t like being around mages. Besides, the Tranquils never lost their written correspondence, so why should she bother? Tonight she feels just as weary as he looks.

She has no idea when or how he closed the distance between them. A tender hand touches her back, its warmth seeps through her drenched and sticky night attire in an instant. It wanders to her shoulders, the warmth almost searing on her chilled flesh, spiraling her senses into hyper-awareness. Without warning he pulls her back flush against his warm chest. The impact makes her release the painful breath stuck in her lungs, leaving her in an almost boneless state, too tired to protest physically.

“It matters more than you think,” he mutters as he presses his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling with a deep shuddering breath. The blade of his ear brushes against her face. She turns in his arms, eyes closed, noses not even inches apart.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t, Orsino.”

‘Please’ lingers unspoken on her tongue. It’s not a word she uses often, as it’s not a command. But she is the Knight Commander, she is divine power, and therefore, she swallows it.

He is silent and she feels, rather than sees, the disarming smile on his lips. Even in the dark she knows exactly how he looks. One of his hands sneaks around her waist as the other finds its way into her damp hair, before it grazes her scalp with a gentle flutter, like a butterfly landing on a delicate flower.

“This is absolutely inappro-”

Orsino’s grip on her tightens from one second to the next, she can feel every sinew muscle in his lanky frame flex and jump to rapt attention, like a predator jumping on its prey. He pushes her body into his by force, taking the wind out of her lungs again with surprising strength. The hand in her hair fists and pulls her head back. Then, his lips crash down on hers. Warm, soft and incredibly demanding, leaving her with barely a chance to draw air. There is urgency and force, as if he wants to merge and mould their bodies into one.

His lips dominate her, searching for something; and whatever it is, they take it from her without respite. He nips, and licks and sucks; sending electric bolts from her lips into her very core; his tongue finally forcing its way into her mouth to coerce her own into a heady battle. She feels the ground under her feet shift and spin, but the anticipated fall never comes. His hands are there, firm and reassuring, keeping her grounded. The world drowns in delicious haziness for a moment.

No matter how tall, strong and imposing she is, the First Enchanter still has a few inches on her. And he is quick. His hands are everywhere, frantically pushing, pulling, kneading, squeezing and wandering with an unexpected feverishness. For a moment she isn’t sure if he has more than just two of them, as he makes it increasingly harder for her to keep her focus.

He gently squeezes her rear, then there is a considerably less gentle squeeze on her right breast, fingers pinching and rolling an erect nipple. The gesture makes her painfully aware of her pert nipples confined under wet, skintight fabric. Thinking about it makes her uncomfortable, leaving a feeling of betrayal. She is cold. There is rain. It is only natural, certainly not a result of the First Enchanter’s hands on her body. He pinches and rolls the other nipple, taking his time with it, as if he knows exactly which gears are turning in her head.

His touch sparks tingles on her flesh; his fingertips kiss and caress her, alternating between gentle pressure and frivolous, rough demands on every part of her body within his reach. There is only one place he doesn’t touch and she is pleased and dissatisfied with him at this revelation. The part he ignores starts to beg for attention with bitter and burning abandon.

A fraction of her is tempted to reciprocate his ministrations. Should she do it? Her vision becomes foggy, more tunnel like than before.

She wants to slump against his frame and let him have her.

No! Her right hand curls into the fabric of his robes at his back, then she lets go and resumes her rigid position. No, she will not give in! She will certainly not slip her arms around him and bathe in his faint scent of vellum, herbs and summer rain. She is already too intoxicated by his proximity and has allowed him way too much leeway.

Orsino snarls at the loss of contact, the ragged sound stuck between their parting lips. He draws her head back towards his, tongue slipping back into her mouth, fiercely attacking, and his arms tighten around her. One hand finds her bottom and caresses it, before squeezing it hard in a manner that clearly says this part of her is now his, and he does not intend to share. He presses himself even harder into her.

_The First Enchanter is certainly taking liberties!_

Some of her bones seem to return and she pushes him back. She still can’t see much, but it is enough to notice his expressive eyes are halfway closed, pupils dilated to the point his eyes are almost black and soaked with a lingering question he doesn’t dare ask out loud. Then again, he looks every part like a man too far gone to care; face flushed in the pouring rain, lips swollen and the promise of iron resolve and more in his eyes.

Right in that moment Meredith hates herself for her ability to read him; otherwise she could have pretended to not know and just let go. A treacherous part of her wants to let go, desperately so.

She wants to wind and work him up just as much in return. Yet, her lips part in surprise as she feels the First Enchanter’s hard-on grinding against her centre. His length is too hot against her chilled body, his now wet summer robes and her drenched night attire don’t leave much to imagination anymore. The thin fabric is hardly a barrier.

She hasn’t expect _that_. She had expected a lot of things, but never that!

His hips roll against hers again with unexpected fluidity, this time slow and deliberate, tantalizing her attention starved core with every burning inch of him.

“Orsino?” There is less steel and volume behind her question than she intends. It’s too soft, barely audible and more a shaky moan than a firm word. To her own ears she sounds breezy, her voice lacking edge and every bit of substance it ever possessed. She has trouble keeping her breath deep and normal.

Orsino attacks her neck with feverish tender kisses in reply; teeth graze the skin close to her Adam‘s apple, searching for her pulse. He rolls his hips again, slow and steady and calculated, and she nearly loses it when both their centres are too close to deny the magnetic pull between them. Meredith shudders and releases a deep, long breath. She needs to stop this insanity, but her foggy brain refuses to come up with a satisfying solution to the question of ‘how’.

He will certainly leave marks. She steels her body into rigidness again as he licks a trail up to her ear and bites into her earlobe, while the icy rain pours down on them and heightens every sensation when heated flesh meets flesh. His bite has not enough pressure to hurt, but the right amount to feel. Hands wander and squeeze from bottom to midriff and linger under the swell of her breasts. With the wet fabric clinging to her skin it feels like there is almost nothing separating them. And Maker, how she suddenly wants his hands to reach a little higher and squeeze again...

There is also a coiling heat in her abdomen that spreads further and kindles a merciless fire between her legs.

_It must be close now._

She hates to admit it, but Orsino plays her like a musician his instrument on expert level. Whatever he does, it ignites fire within her. Whatever part of her he attacks, he finds her weak point almost immediately and uses it to his advantage. She feels a moan rise in her throat and bites down on her tongue to keep the sound from escaping. Whatever happens, she won’t give him that, especially not since he himself is still silent.

_It is all for show, after all._

“Do it, Meredith!” Warm breath hits hear ear, his coarse voice nothing but honey laced music to her. She almost moans again at the sound of her name.

“ _Now_ ,” he urges, lips touching the shell of her ear, undertones heavy with restraint.

How much is he holding back? A part of her wants to find out, bury her fingers in his hair and fight this unholy battle with him until his resolve is shredded to dust by her bare hands. The other part reminds her of her duty.

Her rigid body eases back into fluid motion. She moves on autopilot now; what follows doesn’t require thinking, just action. An action so well practiced, it is part of her very being. The Knight Commander briefly claps her palms together behind Orsino’s back, before a pillar of blinding white light engulfs them. As predicted, they hear a screeching sound and something falling to the ground. The smell of something sickeningly sweet, burnt and rotten, contrasts against the crisp air of the Gallows.

The First Enchanter snaps his fingers, bending his hand in an elegant way – she admires his long fingers - and the fallen creature is caught in magical restraints; short burst of electricity swirling around them, keeping the demon bound to the stone. Some raindrops sizzle as they meet with a lascivious body of bluish-grey skin, an ample bosom and hips made for nothing but a drugged ride on a delirious lover.

“HOW!? How is that possible,” the desire demon screams. “You two were -”

“Not under your control.” Meredith’s voice is as cool and triumphant as the shining templar steel of the sword she’s missing right now. Her voice does not betray her dishevelled state. Something in her head screams: _Liar._

“Not one second,” she adds.

_Liar!_

They have danced this particular dance before. And Maker, were they good at it. So good, in fact, they could fool the embodiment of desire. Nothing of it was real. She had felt the demon’s presence and Orsino must have drawn his own conclusions after examining the girl’s body. And for some things the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter just didn’t need words. Especially not when it was time to hunt wandering demons in the Gallows. Discretion is crucial, because at no point can they let a demon know that they know. Playing games to lure them out of hiding is part of both their jobs, their lives.

The demon looks at them, eyes wandering between the two mortals. Then it has the gall to laugh, loud and mocking, body rattling with each release of sound. It doesn’t escape the Knight Commander that Orsino’s eyes are glued to the jiggling breasts, a desperate, all devouring hunger lingering in his eyes.

_Men. Mages. A combination of both is way too open to influence. Weak._

Meredith steps out of the elf’s embrace, presses her palms together a second time and watches with satisfaction as her holy smite sunders the creature to ashes.

Orsino looks forlorn next to her, like a wet and misplaced book in an otherwise pristine and tidy library. She turns on the spot and takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. She has a hard time coming down from the demon induced high, desire still cursing in waves through her, making her blood boil and forcing her vision into a constricting tunnel.  
Orsino has gotten under her skin, she has to admit. But there was - _is_ \- no real desire.

The throbbing between her legs thinks otherwise, it still screams for gratification and weakens her knees. Meredith ignores it as best as she can.

_Liar._

It was all an act, sensations amplified by the proximity of the demon. It was foolish of her to react at all, because she would never lay with him and he certainly not with her, he is just too susceptible to magical influences.

_Liar!_

“Good night, First Enchanter,” she finally says all business like, seemingly unfazed. She avoids looking at him, because she knows too well what she would find in his eyes. At least, her voice sounds more steady than she feels.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently replayed all Dragon Age games and I'm trapped in Meresino and Solavellan hell again. There's also a little love for Alister and Morrigan somewhere... Nothing breaks hearts faster than falling in love with the mages. X'D  
> So here I am, releasing these sweet ship-feelings. Meresino deserves so much more love than it's getting atm!
> 
> Are we gonna leave Meredith all worked up or does she deserve an encore of earth shattering proportions? :D
> 
> Thank you for reading! ^^


End file.
